Red Sun Rising
by Nefertiri's Handmaiden
Summary: The reflections of Ron, Hermione, and Harry after the Final Battle. Written MUCH Pre-DH.
1. Chapter 1

Red Sun Rising

Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Disclaimer: You know the drill, people.

Note: I wrote this story in about 10 minutes, so please ignore any errors.

Note the Second: Ron looks out over the world and reflects after the final battle.

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The first thing Ron became aware of was the aching pain in his left leg and his ribs. The next thing his noticed was the cold, the absolute silence, and the dark.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there on the cold stone floor, but it felt like a million years. His body felt like it was made of a mixture of lead in some places and jelly in others. His head ached, too. He must have hit it pretty hard on the floor when he fell.

God, things were so screwed up. Hermione. . . Hermione was dead. He'd seen her fall. And Harry. . . he didn't know where Harry was, or if he was alive. Somehow, he doubted it. There was an emptiness in his gut that told him Harry hadn't made it either.

_Don't let me be the only one left. _

The cold started to fade, and Ron forced open his eyes to see a faint light peeking a window facing east that residednot far away.

Suddenly, he needed to see the sky.

Somehow, he managed to push himself over onto his stomach, and up onto his hands and knees. He crawled slowly, weakly to the window. Grabbing the sill, he pushed with all of his might, and somehow managed to pull himself upright.

Outside, there was peace. The world was disturbed only by a light breeze and a few lifeless bodies lying on the ground.

Ron looked east.

Outside, the red sun rose.


	2. Chapter 2

Red Sun Rising

Chapter Two

Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Disclaimer: I'm too lazy to write one, but you all get the point.

Note: I liked the first one so much I had to write another chapter. This one's Hemione's POV. Harry's will follow in the next chapter.

--

Hermione knew, without a doubt, that – for her, anyway – things were ending. She could feel it. But that was okay. Harry would win. Things would turn out okay.

Whatever pain she'd felt previously had faded to a cold numbness that reached all the way to her heart. She turned her head – the only part of her body she could yet control – and gazed at the red carnage around her. Not far away Neville lay unconscious. A thin red thread of his blood flowed calmly from his body and joined the much larger stream of her own crimson blood, which she watched with dispassionate interest.

Brother.

He would live.

Luna would not. Nor Angelina, nor Ernie, nor George.

Fred, lying next to George in a dizzying, sickening mimicry of vacant expression, would make it, but not George. What kind of sick twist of fate was that, that one might survive while the other died such a horrible death?

She hoped that somewhere Ron was okay. She didn't want to meet him where she was going. Not yet, at least. Maybe in seventy or so years. She could wait.

And Harry. . . she already had a feeling Harry wouldn't make it past this night. She'd known it for a long time, and had chosen to ignore it.

Ginny would make it alone. She was strong.

She took a deep breathe as things around her started to fade and she felt the end rushing toward her in slow motion.

With her dying drop of magic, which some witches are occasionally blessed with in large quantities, she performed a single spell, one that she made up herself as she wove the thread of magic that would survive her passing.

Tomorrow, she knew, – though she would not see it from this plane of existence – the sun would rise red.


	3. Chapter 3

Red Sun Rising

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. So there.

Note: Harry's POV at the Final Battle, as promised.

--

Deep in the night, a single owl called out.

Silence.

Another owl – answering the first. They were not alone.

God. To not be alone. That was a gift Harry could treasure.

Around him there was only death. Dead enemies. Dead friends. Dead Voldemort. Dead Harry.

Why am I still alive? –

What's left here? –

Incomplete thoughts and fragmented memories flitted like a hummingbird across Harry's mind.

Somewhere, Ginny lived. Somewhere, his son would grow strong and proud in Harry's memory. Grow without his father.

The world darkened a few shades, as though someone had laid a veil between his eyes and life. He stared up at the world, rising around him to somewhere where in the sky - obscured now from his view by either the veil or the blood running from forehead into his eyes - the stars shone. God, he hoped they shone like the night he'd first come to Hogwarts. Like the night he'd met Sirius. Like the night he'd first loved Ginny.

As the world darkened once more, Harry felt something flowing from his body. His blood? His magic? His soul? Who cared?

Somewhere the owl hooted again.

The world faded completely in Harry's vision and he at last knew peace. And he knew that somewhere - with Ginny watching, with the world watching - the red sun was rising.


End file.
